


Survivor

by wirewrappedlily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean goes down on a deserted island, It's a Terrible Life!verse, M/M, Very bad porn is very bad, and a guardian angel helps him out, hush my pretties, no I'm not telling you where, originally on my deviantart, that would lead to embarrassment and shame, yeah I have one of those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirewrappedlily/pseuds/wirewrappedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith would not be a bitch to a damn island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survivor

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses. Seriously, none.

Dean Smith would not be bitch to a damn island. 

Of course, that was easier said than done, 'cause this island was Hell itself and he was fucking alone and going just a little bit… _crazy_.

He'd been stranded here so long he'd lost count of the days. His skin had freckled to the point that he was just one, giant, walking freckle--just a crispy-fried on the edges now. 

Dean'd been in rough shape before. He'd gotten into brawls as a kid and done stupid shit...but being the sole survivor of the company jet crashing somewhere in the Pacific?...not exactly making him his gorgeous, ladykiller self, now, was it?

Blistering sun (literally, blistering: either he was calloused, chafed raw, or covered in a blister… _everywhere_. It was not cool!); next to no water; next to no food (no need for those punk-ass cleanses now, eh?!); and he'd probably just sealed his fate by nearly severing his hand off trying to build a damn boat that wasn't going to take him fucking anywhere and he was STUCK here! Fucking stuck, and he wasn't gonna see Lisa or Jo or fucking Sammy Wesson or Bobby and his dad and mom...doomed! He was doomed!

...Dean Smith would not be an island's bitch. 

...Who was he fucking kidding, yes he would!

If it meant a sliver of hope, Dean would do just about anything. No, scratch that, he'd do absolutely and unquestioningly anything. And he'd like it like a cheap whore if he had to. 

He might have been getting feverish from infection in his hand (thoughts of gangrene running rampant in his horrified man--and it was his right hand, for fuck's sake, how would he jack off if he couldn't fucking use his right hand?!), or it could have been heatstroke. Either way, Dean found himself propped against the rough stone wall of his cave, delirious and watching a tropical storm raging out side, sending markings over the walls of the cave in reflection from the lightning strikes.

Leaning his head back against the scratchy wall (that had burst at least six of the blisters on his back already, probably filling them with dirt and grime and nastiness) Dean turned his attention to the opposite wall--and almost missed the flash of a figure walking towards his cave as the lightning crashed. Dean didn't want to look over--really, how many mirages survived when you gave your full attention to the one thing you really wanna see?--but the shock of the sight was enough to have him turning to the door, his heart and stomach taking up an Irish jig that he prayed God would stop before his heart shattered with the disappearance of the apparition. 

The figure made it to the mouth of the cave--inside, looking at Dean with huge, indescribably blue eyes. "Are you injured?...Oh, no, your hand. This gash is deep, how did it happen?"

The stranger had put himself almost touching Dean where he sat, pulling his bloody arm into the stranger's lap, and Dean swore he could see a pair of ghostly, shadowed wings stretch out behind the man in the next flash of lightning. 

His hands were rough, huge, and surprisingly warm--Read: substantial--gently brushing the angry skin and caring for the rough edges of the gash with a consternation that confused Dean to no end. "I think it's going to be alright. You will most likely receive a nasty scar, but you do not seem to truly require stitches."

"Wh-Who are you?"

Blue eyes were a direct line of electricity down Dean's spine. "My name is Castiel. I was named for the angel of Thursday--"

"Never heard of him," Dean admitted brusquely, then kicked himself. 

Castiel looked back at his hand between them, a miraculous, awe-worthy smile tugging at his lips, and there was only one thing that Dean could think about: _Holy fuck is this guy beautiful!_

"If it weren't for my name, I never would have heard of him, either, I'm sure." 

Dean smiled in return--the familiar expression falling on his features as it hadn't in what felt like a lifetime--a lifetime because, really, he hadn't truly smiled since he was growing up: his corporate smile was all too false. 

"So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Castiel looks up at him with something hidden in his eyes, something glowing. "You do." He tore off a strip of unbelievably clean cloth from his clothes, wrapping Dean's wound carefully and pulling him to his feet. "Rain means fresh water, Dean, something I believe you've not had in too long. Go, bathe and drink in the rain...Not the same rain." 

Dean sniggered, too happy to pout at the shot his new guardian angel had dealt him. 

Dean stood under the palm fronds, burns and blisters soothed by the water. The sand and grit washed away, and Dean had to shudder at the thought of it returning full force when the rain stopped. 

A bolt of lightning sent manna from heaven in the form of hitting a fruit-heavy palm that had been too tall for him to climb. Dashing through the sand, Dean caught up armfuls of bananas, racing back to the cave to deposit them. 

In his haste to gather up his meals for--he hoped--as long as it'd take to get him rescued, Dean didn't notice that the angel in the trench coat...was gone. 

~

Dean laid on his woven pallet of palm leaves, somewhere between asleep and awake as he waited for the twilight. 

If he could wait for the sun to start setting, he'd be able to do what he needed to easily, unburned by the sun. With the moon so huge and so full, he had perfect vision in the night, and he'd just be working on a bonfire that night: his catch of fish boned and ready to be cooked; his fruit supplies brazenly high; and his water...passable, but he'd feel better if he had more. 

Dean hadn't truly slept in two weeks, dozing through the day to be able to work through the cooler night. 

A body was pressed into his from behind, softly holding him in strong, protective arms. "Stay."

Dean's eyes fluttered fully closed as he felt a pair of lightly chapped lips press against the back of his neck, the arm tightening. 

Dean fell asleep in the arms of his angel.

He woke up softly, the sleep settling in his bones and feeling more like rest than sleep had for a long, long time. 

There were no arms around him--

But, as Dean sat up, he found his head had been pillowed on a discarded trench coat, a suit coat abandoned on the sand near the mouth of the cave as well. "Castiel?"

"Over here!" 

Dean clambered out of the cave, into the night air that felt fresher than it had yet. He found Castiel easily enough, his trail of clothes leading to the water, his pale body a moonbeam in the black waves. He looked over his shoulder, and Dean could see his eyes were sad, his smile weak and faltering. "Cas? You okay?"

The man turned to face Dean, his features tragic to the point that Dean would give just about anything for the look to lighten. 

Dean shirked his shredded up jeans, sliding into the water quickly, careful of reefs that tried to bite him even in the daylight. "Cas, please, what's wrong?" 

There were tears in the smaller man's eyes, and Dean watched him study his emaciated body. Castiel looked as though he wanted to touch him, and Dean couldn't resist. 

Dean took the man's hand, placing it over his chest, the fingers startled and careful, as though trying not to scare a colt that's snuck up on you. 

"Dean, you have suffered so much here…" 

Dean looked past Castiel, and was struck by the stars as though they were each their own bolt of lightning. It was incredibly, indescribably beautiful. "I worked in an office, Cas...I lived in the city--"

"You don’t get to see the stars, do you, Dean?" 

Turning depthless emerald eyes to the owner of the most beautiful voice Dean had ever heard, the blond smiled a small, meek smile. "I don't think anyone gets to see stars like these."

Castiel took his hand, standing with his face angled to the stars. "Keep faith, Dean. You'll get home--"

"Home means leaving you behind doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"Fuck."

Cas laughed lightly, squeezing his hand under the water, "I'll be fine."

"You're not the one I'm worried about." 

~

Dean was thunderous, he shook with rage. 

There was nothing for it: he was going to be here forever. 

Castiel watched him stoically as he _lost it_. And that was just fucking it. That was the last goddamn straw. Dean's fist collided with Cas's jaw, and Dean found himself rushed to the ground, Castiel on top of him, wailing on him just as much as Dean managed to hit him back.

It was like falling off a log--only easier. Dean was naked under naked skin and they were sweaty and bloody and hard and panting against each other's skin. Dean arched, searching and wanting, and Cas just met him with his lips and teeth and tongue, lavishing attention over his already-abused mouth. 

It was worse than the fever dream that created Cas. It was consuming and it was painful, if only for the reason that Dean knew this couldn't be real. It wasn't possible. 

Dean pushed his hands hard against Castiel's body, feeling the skin and the muscle. Castiel sucked on his tongue, and Dean felt himself getting harder than he had ever been against Castiel's ass. Breaking the kiss, Cas's thighs tensed as he pushed back against the head, squeaking just slightly at the feeling. Dean breathed harshly through his nose, begging eyes on Castiel: begging him to take him; begging for him not to hurt himself, and for him not to hurt Dean, because this, of all things, would kill Dean. Castiel knew him better than anything--he was a figment of Dean's own fuckin' mind, he'd better know Dean--sliding down Dean's body, kneeling in the sand to suck his cock into a mouth that was either sinful or holy, Dean didn't have the brain capacity to decide as he began sucking on the hard, dripping length, swirling his tongue over the veins and humming in his arousal. 

Dean was burning up from the inside out, watching Castiel as his eyes rolled closed in pleasure, his cheeks hollowing out. He sucked harder, the stretch of his lips around Dean's thick excitement and the taste of his arousal giving Castiel reason enough to moan shrilly--and that was enough to drive what little sanity Dean had out the window. 

Rolling up, Dean lowered Cas beneath him, pressing his tip against Cas's entrance again, with more pressure than before. Agonizingly slowly, Dean moved forward, opening Cas with his length and watching, rapt, as the most put-together person he'd ever seen came completely undone beneath him. 

Sheathing himself in the tight heat, Dean mouthed a hickey into the pulse point of the ivory neck gasping beneath him. Castiel's hips rolled against his, searching for friction. Dean thrusted harder, impaling him roughly and relishing his yell of pleasure. 

Weaving his hands away, Dean grabbed his knees and pushed them against Cas's chest, reaching deeper and swallowing his outcry in a downright filthy kiss, groaning at the tight heat. Castiel's hands gouged through the earth beneath him, trying to hold on as Dean's head pressed his prostate, making him almost beg for relief from the pressure between his legs, his throbbing cock trapped between them. 

Dean kissed him luxuriously, revelling in the taste of Castiel's lips as he moaned. 

Screaming as Dean's hips slowed to an almost painful pace, he went wild. "Dean, dear god...please…" 

Castiel shuddered and arched, struggling for release. Dean kissed him far too gently, gripping Castiel's hips and pulling out, Castiel's desperate whine shivering down his spine. Dean rolled Castiel over, the man bent on his knees and elbows in the sand, Dean's hands pulling him back onto his dick, one arm bracing across his chest from his waist to his shoulder, supporting him up against Dean's chest, skin sliding slickly against skin. The change in position made Castiel whimper with pleasure, Dean looking over his shoulder, down at the leaking length. Dean ghosted his hands over the inside of Castiel's thighs, bracing them open wider, teasing close to but not touching his cock. Castiel thrust back against his hips, wanting. 

Dean ghosted his hands over Castiel's skin lovingly, Cas laying his head back against Dean's shoulder, leaving his throat bare for Dean's soft lips. "Cum for me, Castiel," Dean breathed, thrusting harder into his prostate. 

Castiel screamed in pleasure, limply falling forward before arching back against him, tensing around his cock to keep him there, coming hard with a silent scream.

Dean bit down on his shoulder, coming harder than he ever had before in the tight heat. 

Dean and Castiel listed to the side, curled up and still connected, panting harshly as they sank away together. 

Dean woke up in his cave, a familiar but unrecognizing pair of blue eyes looking down on him carefully, a hand taking a cool cloth away from his forehead and the lip of a water container pressing gently to his lower lip, waiting for him to drink. 

Dean tried to lift his arms, to move, and found himself all but boneless, his twitching fingers the only responsive part of him. "You're going to be okay, sir." Dean was seated up in his lap, his backrest the man's long legs. He turned to shout out of the cave, "Hurry the fuck up with that gurney--this guy's barely hanging on!" 

"Yessir!" 

Blue eyes turned back to Dean, and he realized that his angel--his saviour--didn't know him. "We're going to get you out of here. You'll be alright, I promise. My name's Cas Novak: blink twice if you understand what I'm saying." 

Dean blinked twice, mouth open and searching for water now. He'd never been more thirsty in his life. 

"Small sips...small sips. You're Dean Smith, aren't you? The lost businessman. You've been on the news for the last month." 

_I hope you get a reward for finding me…_

"You're lucky you've got such good friends...my grandfather died on this island fifty years ago. Got a call in from some guy named Sam Wesson, said he triangulated coordinates to where you'd be." The man smiled, and Dean felt almost like pain meds had been shot straight into his aching body. "You're also lucky I managed to convince boss man Bobby to check it out." 

"Stop flirting, you idjit, and get the man a damn drink."

Dean was completely pliant, held easily in deceptively skinny arms and supported by coiled muscles that felt like home they were so protective. Dean could have cried at the feeling after being so long defenseless. Even at the mercy of another guy, Dean felt like he had power over his life again, like he had choices. "Remember, small sips...Normally, I'd be feeding you ice chunks until we got you hooked to an IV, but that option's not available and you are incredibly persuasive even unconscious--"

"In other words, boy, Castiel here is thinking naughty thoughts." A laughing British voice floated in from the mouth of his cave, backdropped by the sounds of metal against stone and something soft and plastic slapping against its metal post. 

"Fuck off, Balthazar. Don't listen to him, he's a pompous British ass that fancies himself a comedian or a good judge of character." Dean's eyes turned to the man in question, and his chest heaved in what was dangerously close to a laugh--would have been, if he'd had the voice for it. 

"Cas, the boy's sunburned enough--he doesn't need your cheeks cooking him any more well done."

Cas looked up at the blond man and actually stuck his tongue out at him, eyebrows scrinching. 

"So mature, the pairaya!" The one called Bobby came in, helping Balthazar to lower the gurney enough that they could hopefully get Dean on to it unscathed. 

Bobby moved to help Cas do just that, the older man grumbling at both his team members, chastising as though he were a father. 

Dean'd hated his father...this Bobby dude kinda made him feel like he had truly missed out on the dad experience: why couldn't _he_ have been Dean's dad, instead of John, the emotionally constipated motherfucker who couldn't even find it in himself to care whether or not Dean survived school. Thank God for his mother, the woman had a sainthood coming. 

Dean tried not to flinch as he felt the needle against the inside of his elbow, Cas's blue eyes unfathomable with apology. His vision was fluttering, faltering...he wanted to keep his eyes open, for this dream...but he was too fucking tired. 

Cas, as always, heard him, "Sleep, Dean, you'll be back to kicking ass and taking names in no time," Dean blacked out.

~

Beeping and the smell of sterile air wasn't quite welcome. For the barest of moments, Dean felt the loss of the stars and the smell of the wind. The sheets picked at his skin, the supposedly comfortable bed felt like it was swallowing him in the most uncomfortable of ways. 

There was a bitchy and familiar huff from his right, and Dean smirked to himself before he opened his eyes, "Thanks for the save...bitch."

"Jerk." Sam smirked back, looking relieved of the weight of the world. "You're fucking lucky you owe me two hundred bucks from poker."

Dean's smirk grew, cracking his split lips. Sam tossed him a small jar of something--a balm for his skin.

"I've bought five massive buckets of that stuff for the rest of you. "Is there anything that didn't get crispy fried?"

"My c--"

"Shuddup! Shut up now." 

Dean smirked, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"You need pain meds?"

"I--" Too late, Sam was out of there like someone had lit his ass on fire. Huffing to himself, Dean redoubled his efforts to get comfy, failing miserably. "Sonofa--"

"Good, you're awake," a sly, laughing voice like gravel in a garbage disposal caught Dean's attention at once, all pain and discomfort folded into the background to the black-haired, blue-eyed waltzing in in a mouthwatering fashion. 

"Thanks to you."

Cas waved it away as if he were swatting a fly, "Nah, I hardly did anything." 

Cas was all nonchalance and deceptively easy smiles, "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Depthless blue eyes seemed to swallow the world. His lips twitched, and Dean had the insane urge to capture them with his. "You do."

~

"How do you do that to me?" Cas's voice was _wrecked_ , his skin sliding slickly against Dean's. 

"I love you, that’s how." 

Dean kissed Castiel hotly, smiling slightly. "You ready for tomorrow?"

Dean squeezed Cas closer, harder, laughing, "I can't fucking wait." 

"You going to sleep enough--?"

Dean's smile was downright filthy, his growl going straight to Cas's supposedly spent cock. "Not if I can help it."


End file.
